


He Lives In A Daydream (Where I Don't Belong)

by NotFlyingWithOtters



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Getting inside Dean Winchester's head, It's a scary place to be, M/M, Masturbation, one sided feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-04
Updated: 2013-02-04
Packaged: 2017-11-28 08:36:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/672415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotFlyingWithOtters/pseuds/NotFlyingWithOtters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night outside was cold, star and moonlight slanting bars over the bed in silver blocks that reminded Dean of ice. He shifted slightly to one side so that the light no longer broke over his face, his soft features once more clothed in darkness. His hands moved idly down to his waistband and he toyed with the belt buckle, easing the leather strap out of the metal and unbuttoning his jeans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Lives In A Daydream (Where I Don't Belong)

**Author's Note:**

> The actual lyric is _she lives in a daydream/where I don't belong_ but I made it about Cas and Dean  
>  Song: She Is The Sunlight by Trading Yesterday

Dean lay on the bed in the dingy motel room, staring at the yellowed, peeling wallpaper and the flaking paint on the walls. He closed his eyes for a moment and folded his arms over his chest, his fingers absent-mindedly tapping out a rhythm to his favourite rock song on his wrist. He liked moments like this, the peace and quiet after the hunt. Sam was off; he’d picked up a few tips from Dean and had found a woman in a bar to go home with.

The night outside was cold, star and moonlight slanting bars over the bed in silver blocks that reminded Dean of ice. He shifted slightly to one side so that the light no longer broke over his face, his soft features once more clothed in darkness. His hands moved idly down to his waistband and he toyed with the belt buckle, easing the leather strap out of the metal and unbuttoning his jeans.

He thought of Cas; the warm handprint on his arm that burned whenever the angel had touched him, whenever the angel even came near him a tingle ran through his arm. Gently, he ran his hands down underneath his jeans and popped the zipper down, spreading the folds of material so that he could get comfortable.

He tried, he really tried to think of the women on the cover of Busty Asian Beauties, or in Casa Erotica, but his traitorous mind drifted to a memory of Cas in the hood of the Impala, covered only in bees. Dean couldn’t help how his eyes had drifted south, or how in his mind the bees lazily moved from Cas’ tanned skin and revealed him, bared Cas to Dean’s inquisitive gaze. He trailed his fingers underneath his waistband, fingers running over the smooth skin beneath the thin cotton of his boxers.

He tipped his head back and ran his freehand over his warm chest, teasing his sensitive nipples as the hand in his boxers ghosted over the hot skin of his cock. He whimpered a little and imagined that it was Cas touching him, imagined the bright glitter in the angel’s eyes as he learned what made Dean break, what took him apart. His hand on his chest ghosted over him, imagining a smaller hand teasing his nipples, playing with his sides and trailing hot trails along his stomach, outlining his muscles.

Dean gave a soft whimper as his hand closed over his cock, slowly and torturously running his calloused fingers up the shaft and along the hot skin, his hips bucking up a little to the pressure, whispering a mantra of Cas’ name interspersed with moans. He dug his nails experimentally into his side and whimpered at the pleasure it sparked, cascading across the warm skin of his chest. Cas, always Cas.

He tipped his head back and imagined kissing those lips, imagined licking the taste of him from his skin, sucking marks into his shoulders to tell him that he wasn’t God’s any more; he was Dean’s, Dean owned him. Dean whispered his name into the air and his back arched off the bed as his hand moved faster, working his cock hard, his free hand moving down to roll his balls and cup them.

His eyes fluttered open, a hazy film of desire over them. He imagined Cas pressing his thigh between his legs, giving him something to rut against and to spend himself against. He could imagine the feel of the angel’s warm body beneath him, those blue eyes glowing in the moonlight as Dean straddled his waist and rode him.

His breath came faster and faster, sharp gasps in and out as his chest rose and fell shallowly, his entire body shivering as his orgasm approached. He imagined the angel flat on his back and gazing at him, Dean learning his entire body by heart, knowing every part of him that made him turn into a whimpering mess, fall into a lustful fit, made him beg for Dean. His heart ached a little and his hand faltered for a moment before he regained his rhythm and began working his cock faster than before, trembling under the ministrations of his hand.

“Cas.” He whispered into the suddenly cloying air, his body trembling under the power of the orgasm coming through him, rising like a blinding white tide until he broke. His orgasm crested and he came with a whimper of Cas’ name, come streaking the tanned skin of his chest. He removed his hand and began slowly cleaning up, wiping the thick white ropes from his chest and hands, removing all evidence of what he had been doing. His chest ached, it was a dull ache he had known since Cas had freed him from hell, something he couldn’t quite explain or understand but he knew that it did hurt and that the hurt wouldn’t go away.

He began slowly pacing the room, running his hands through his hair. It had happened again, he was just trying to relieve some pressure, get rid of the tension, and he had thought of Cas. His heart gave another painful pang and he shivered, placing his hands in his back pockets. This needed to stop. He couldn’t think of his best friend, of his only friend when he was jerking off. That wasn’t how friendships worked. He sighed and rested his forehead on the windowsill.

“You called for me?” The low voice that he would recognise anywhere came ringing out from behind him and he closed his eyes to stave off the impending headache.

“No. No I didn’t…” He said softly, his nails digging grooves into his palm. “I said your name.”

“You sounded breathless. I assumed you were in need of me.” Dean closed his eyes, imagining how it would feel to have Cas know the truth, to understand the depth of his feeling. He didn’t act though, he couldn’t.

“No. I don’t need you, Cas.” He almost felt the sadness that rolled off of Cas.  “I mean I want you here, man. I always do.” He sighed and shoved his hands in his back pockets. “But I don’t need you now.” Cas nodded and with the characteristic flutter, he was gone.

Dean lay on his bed, and counted the heartbeats that thudded too loudly in his ears, remembered exactly how Cas had smelled and how he had looked cast in the shadow of the moonlight. His breath slowed and he fell asleep, imagining Cas lying beside him.

_And if loving him is,_  
 _Is a heartache for me_  
 _And if holding him means_  
 _I have to bleed,_  
 _Then I am the martyr_


End file.
